


Convenient ≠ Logical

by longleggedgit



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov goes to Spock to vent about his romantic frustrations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convenient ≠ Logical

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://celebros.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://celebros.livejournal.com/)**celebros** in a drabble meme.

Chekov storms into Spock's quarters the second he hears a calm "Enter" from inside, briefly wishing the _Enterprise_ had traditional doors just so he could slam this one behind him.

"I am _finished_ with him," Chekov snaps, throwing himself face-first onto Spock's bed. He can hear Spock swivel around in his chair to take Chekov in.

"Would you care for a drink, Ensign?" he asks, which is always the first thing he asks when Chekov comes into his room in a huff.

Instead of answering, Chekov presses his face further into the mattress and grunts, which means yes. He's grateful it only took one such episode for Spock to catch on to these little cues.

"I was gifted a bottle of Yridian Ale on my last away mission," Spock says conversationally. Chekov just extends a hand and waits for the feel of cool glass between his fingers.

"Lieutenant Sulu is still proving difficult?" Spock asks, handing off the ale.

Chekov drags himself upright and throws back half the glass in one go. "Difficult," he gasps, choking a bit on the not unpleasant burn in his throat. "A badly trained dog is difficult. I am beginning to suspect Hikaru tries to be this dense."

"It is not uncommon for humans to feign ignorance when faced with situations they are uncomfortable addressing directly," Spock says, which is not at all what Chekov wants to hear at the moment. He glares until Spock clears his throat and amends, "Not to say Lieutenant Sulu is made uncomfortable by your romantic advances."

It's kind of cute when Spock balks under Chekov's fits of emotion, and Chekov softens a little, grateful to him for the effort. He's not sure how exactly this became a ritual—Chekov dropping by Spock's quarters for regular sessions of venting his romantic frustrations—but he's come to not only appreciate them; he's starting to rather enjoy them.

"I am sorry," Chekov sighs, finishing off his ale and extending his glass toward Spock, who is already reaching for the bottle. "You are always so helpful to me, and I thank you by being rude."

"Not at all," Spock says. "I quite enjoy the opportunity to discuss personal matters with you, Ensign."

What Chekov likes about Spock is that he can always tell when he means it. Which is most of the time.

"But it is unfair of me to come here and only talk about myself," Chekov says. "A good friend must give and not only take."

"Your visits offer me consistent companionship and the opportunity to learn more about the nuances of human culture," Spock says, but Chekov only scowls at this.

"No, no." He waves a dismissive hand. "This is not enough." Suddenly a wonderful idea comes to Chekov, and he gets up to pour Spock a glass of his own ale, which Spock accepts with a raised eyebrow.

"What about you?" Chekov says. Spock frowns in obvious confusion, so Chekov elaborates. "Tell me your romantic troubles. I can help!"

Spock, in the act of lifting his glass to his mouth and taking a sip, starts to cough violently.

"I—have no such concerns at the moment, Ensign," Spock says, and Chekov can tell beyond any doubt that it's a lie.

"There must be someone," Chekov urges. Spock only continues to frown, clearly uncomfortable, so Chekov decides to go out on a limb. "The captain, perhaps . . . ?"

The look Spock shoots him is one of mingled shock and embarrassment, maybe even fear. It may be the most expressive Chekov's ever seen Spock's face.

"How—" Spock stops and schools his features back into his more typical calm mask, although if Chekov looks closely he can still see the furrow in his brow. "Why would you suggest I feel anything beyond respect and camaraderie with the captain?"

Chekov scoffs. "I have eyes," he says. When Spock's other eyebrow raises, he adds a hasty, "Sir."

For a few moments, Chekov is certain Spock is going to stay quiet forever; or worse, ask Chekov to leave and never allow him to visit again. After briefly losing himself in thought, however, Spock seems to regain his focus, and he sits up straighter in his chair.

"To pursue a relationship with the captain would be . . ." Spock begins, faltering a little. "Illogical."

The fact that Spock just opened up to him to a degree Chekov is fairly certain he never has with any other crew members very nearly makes Chekov grin, but the seriousness of Spock's predicament sobers him.

"It would be complicated," Chekov admits, sighing. "Much like pursuing a relationship with a fellow helmsman is complicated."

They both fall quiet, reflecting on their respective predicaments, Chekov taking the opportunity to pour himself another drink. It's hard, Chekov thinks, and it only gets harder, but it helps, somehow, to know he's not alone in this. Still, Spock being miserable along with him can only comfort Chekov so much. He just wishes there were some kind of obvious solution to both their problems.

And at this precise moment, Chekov realizes, maybe there _is._

"These things take time," Chekov says, easing his way in slowly.

"Yes," Spock says, although he's looking at Chekov as if he doesn't know exactly what he means. "Of course."

"I think, for both of us, things will turn out for the best in the end," Chekov continues. He takes a drink, swirls the glass in his hand, takes another. "But in the meantime. . . ."

Trailing off meaningfully doesn't seem to work on Spock any better than it does on Hikaru.

"Ensign?" Spock says blankly.

"It would be logical," Chekov says, setting his glass on the floor and crossing the room to where Spock sits in his chair, looking perplexed, "for us to find companionship in other places." He climbs into Spock's lap just so there can be no mistaking his drift, and Spock stiffens, but doesn't immediately protest.

"Ensign," Spock says after a pause. "'Convenient' is not synonymous with 'logical.'"

But Spock still hasn't pushed Chekov away, and his hands, Chekov notices happily, have come to rest at Chekov's waist.

"Close enough," Chekov says, smiling.

After another short pause, Spock begins to smile back.

_end_


End file.
